by K. L. Savage
I open the drawer to the nightstand, grab a memo pad and a pen, and leave a note that says I’ll be back later.
She whimpers as I walk to the door. Giving her one last look, I do my best to memorize the image in front of me, the moment. Her hair is melted milk chocolate along the covers, pure silk draping the sheets. Her body is small, her arms are slender, and while physically she doesn’t look strong, she’s one of the strongest people I know.
Finally getting my feet to move from under me, I leave my future behind to go deal with a threat. Opening the front door, I step out into the early morning sunrise. The air is cooler, and the promise of fall is just around the corner. I inhale, exhale, stretch, feeling the muscles she latched onto the hardest protest as I move. I grin at the memory of her gasps, her moans, the whispered way she said my name in my ear as I drove into her.
Fuck, I’m getting hard again just thinking about it.
The way her hips felt in my hands, the way her pussy clenched around me and pulsated as she came…
Damn it! I need a breather. I take a minute to myself and place my hand against the beam of the porch. My fingers curl, clenching my hands into fists when I think about how good she took my dick in her ass.
“Jesus Christ, the woman is going to be the death of me.” I shake my head and hop down the steps, kicking up red dust as I walk. My eyes are set on the destruction around me. Skirt’s home is gone. Bullets are everywhere. Glass is broken.
Lives were almost lost.
My home was almost gone.
Someone dared to fuck with my house, and I don’t mean where I sleep. I mean once I enter those gates to the compound, this entire area is my fucking house.
A place that was once a sanctuary is now a death trap. We don’t forgive anybody when they fuck with our home, our lives, and threaten our hearts.
And I don’t mean my heart, none of the guys do when we talk about it.
Our hearts are what make this place.
Us, the guys, our hearts are stone-cold black most days.
No, what makes this place special is the love that was breathed into it when ol’ ladies starting popping up left and right. Bikers aren’t warm and fucking fuzzy, but the women are, and the ol’ ladies have worked too damn hard to make this place home.
Everyone should know once you fuck with a Ruthless, you get ruthlessly fucked until the desert soaks up your blood. Whoever these guys are that dared attempt to demolish us, I’m going to rip their organs out, put them on ice, and fucking FedEx them to their leader.
Or.
Talk to Reaper about organ donation. A useless life can save a worthy one. We can figure out the semantics of it. I’d offer black market, but I’m not sure if Reaper wants to dive into that world. All I know is if this man is healthy and his organs are in good shape, letting them go to waste would be a real fucking shame.
As I walk by Skirt’s house, my boot kicks a burnt piece of wood toward the front door of the clubhouse. I want to offer to rebuild the house for him before he’s up and moving around. Maybe a group of us can get together. Half of his cabin is burnt down, black and charred, while the other half still looks newly built. Skirt has done so much for us, and it’s time we do something for him.
I step across broken glass from the shot-out windows, and the sound grinds across my nerves. I jump onto the porch and reach for the door handle but find it locked. It’s too early for the door to be unlocked. I’m an idiot. I jump off the porch and make my way toward the back door and find it open like it usually is and take a deep breath as I make my way inside.
As the sun rises, the lights against the stained-glass bring a kaleidoscope of colors to life as they dance against the wall across from Reaper’s office.
The first thing I notice is how quiet it is. There’s no rambunctious noise, no conversations echoing from the kitchen, no laughs around the breakfast table as people sip their coffee.
Something has died.
The known clanks of someone moving around in the kitchen has me breathing easier. I walk through the hallway and eye the old photos on the wall of what the MC used to be. Reaper’s dad is standing in front of his bike, Reaper on his shoulders. It’s hard to believe that little boy grew up to be the most dangerous man I’ve ever come across.
When I get to the kitchen, Sarah is there, scooting around to each cabinet. Her blonde hair is piled on top of her head while Maizey is sitting at the table, right next to Ellie. Ellie’s eyes are rimmed red, crying from being worried about Melissa. Maizey is sniffling too, but when Badge walks through the kitchen to get to his workstation, she brightens.
“Badge!” Maizey squeals, and it scares Sarah, making her drop a plate in the sink. It shatters, and Sarah lays a hand over her heart, then hisses when an edge of the plate cuts her palm.
“Damn it,” Sarah curses, and I watch the blood well up. I hurry over to her to make sure she’s alright.
“Let me,” I say, gently grabbing her wrist and inspecting the wound. “You’re going to need stitches.” The cut is deep and about four inches long. I open the drawer to the left of the sink and pull out a clean dish towel, then apply pressure. “Hold this against it, and let me clean up the plate.”
“I’m sorry,” Maizey starts to cry. “I didn’t mean it.” Maizey hugs Badge’s leg, and the man seems lost, staring at Maizey with fascination and a little disgust. The man doesn’t like kids, but Maizey seems to always gravitate toward him.
“I know, babe. It’s okay. Ellie, can you make her oatmeal, please?” Sarah asks.
“I’ll make coffee too for everyone.” Ellie sniffles as she gets up, and her chin wobbles. Poodle walks into the kitchen next, and I can tell he’s been crying too. Ellie runs to Poodle and they crash together with an audible thud.
I can’t take the next few day off, not when my family needs me.
Suddenly the kitchen is full as Reaper, Tongue, and Bullseye come in. Reaper flies to Sarah’s side and takes her hand. “What happened, Doll?”
“Broke a plate. It isn’t a big deal,” she states. “Doc has me covered.”
I glance around the room to see all the broken hearts, and I know it’s up to me to give them hope. “I’m going to go check on everyone today. I don’t want anyone to worry, not unless I come to you specifically and say you need to. I think everyone is going to make a good recovery. I’ll update everyone when I have more news. Including you, Bullseye.” I give him a knowing expression, telling him silently I will check his test results to see if they are in yet. I should have checked, but things have been hectic.
Bullseye gives me a nod, and Reaper gives him a curious glance, then he narrows his eyes at me. “I told you to take the next four days off.”
“And I decided my patients need me now—my family needs me now. I can take a break when I know everyone is safe.” I lift the rag off Sarah’s hand and see that it is still bleeding, and the pressure isn’t helping. “I need to get Sarah downstairs for stitches.”
Maizey is wailing now, and Badge pats her head awkwardly, staring at all of us for help.
“It’s okay, baby. I’m okay.” Sarah squats to get eye level with Maizey and kisses her forehead. “Just a little band-aid is all I’m getting, okay? I swear.”
“Promise?” Maizey sniffles, half hiding behind Badge’s tree-trunk of a leg.
“Pinky promise.” Sarah lifts her hand, curls her fingers in until all that is pointing up is her pinky.
Maizey grins and locks their fingers together, her messy hair hanging in her face as she bounces with excitement.
I open the basement door and hear the constant beeping of all the machines, and my mind wanders to my mom. Soon, real soon, she isn’t going to be up and moving around. She’s going to be too weak. She’s going to need at home care where she can—I swallow—where she can pass peacefully.
I flip on the light and change the brightness, so I don’t wake anyone.
“I want some fucking water!” Moretti throws his pitcher across the room,
and it flies right by my head, smashing against the wall.
So much for not waking anyone up.
“You’ll get water when I’m done checking on my other patients, Moretti. Can you remember anything?” I ask.
“Fuck off.”
I sit Sarah down in an empty chair and sigh. “I’ll take that as a no.” I walk over to the sink and wash my hands, then put on gloves so I’m not in danger of not giving anyone an infection. I throw the bloodied cloth in the biohazard container and clean, disinfect, and numb the area for Sarah as I stitch up her hand.
“I’ll remember to kick your ass when I remember,” Moretti threatens.
“Shut up, Moretti. No you won’t.” Reaper slings the curtain across the rods so we can’t see Moretti, and he can’t see us. “Remind me to turn all these beds into private rooms.”
“Asshole,” Moretti grumbles.
“Hey,” Reaper opens the curtain again. “You better fucking know this and remember it. This asshole kept you alive when a lot of others wanted to pull the plug on you. You’re alive because of me. You’re able to be here and heal. Next time you insult me or my men, and especially your doctor, the one who kept you alive, I’ll give you a reason to be in pain once again. Am I fucking clear, asshole?” Reaper inches closer and closer to his face, seething.
Moretti turns his head, then flips to his side, acting like a child. Reaper closes the curtain again and tries to take a deep, calming breath.
“All done,” I tell Sarah and place the last piece of medical tape on the gauze. “Keep it dry, change the bandage; you know the drill.”
“Thanks, Doc.” She hops out of the chair and smiles over my shoulder. I turn around to see who she’s looking at and see Mary is wide awake, bright-eyed and bushy tailed. Sarah forgets all about me and rams her shoulder into my chest as she runs by me to see her friend. “I’m so happy to see you. Are you okay?”
“Damn, she’s a linebacker.” I rub my chest when the slightest throb starts to pulse.
“I know. Imagine feeling it when she’s angry.”
I snort at Reaper while walking over to the front of the bed line. Mary is fine. She isn’t my main concern right now. Dawn is in a bed lying next to Skirt. She’s asleep, and he’s holding his tiny daughter in his large arms.
“It’s good to see you awake,” I whisper, not wanting to wake Dawn as I check his heart rate.
“Aye.” He sniffles, running his sausage of an index finger over his daughter’s cheek. “Ain’t she gorgeous, Doc?”
Yep. A cute little potato. “Looks just like you with that red hair,” I say instead and have him lean forward so I can check his lungs. They sound a bit congested, but nothing to be concerned about it. They will clear up in a few weeks.
“You’re awake!” Sarah and Reaper hurry over to the other side of Skirt, and Reaper pats Skirt’s shoulder. Sarah kisses him on the cheek and then gasps when she sees the little one. “Oh, she’s beautiful.”
“I’m glad to see you awake, Skirt. We were so worried. Poodle has been going out of his mind.”
“Ye worry too much. I was just napping.” His eyes do not move from his daughter, and they well with tears. “Shucks, I can’t believe we made this. Where is Aidan?” he asks. “What’s her name? Does anyone know?”
“No, no name yet. Dawn was waiting on you. Aidan is still asleep. The boy sleeps through anything. He’s safe, though. Don’t worry,” Reaper informs him, wrapping his arms around Sarah.
Skirt looks over to his left and sees Dawn. “I love ye. Ye did good, Dawn. Ye did real good.” His eyes fall on Patrick, who’s still lying next to Dawn. Sunnie is by his side, asleep, holding his hand. Skirt looks at me, searching for answers. “Is he going to be okay?”
“I think so,” I say, meandering over to check Patrick’s vitals. He sounds good. “I think the worst of it is over.”
Skirt glances to the right and sees Melissa. “Melissa,” he whispers with wide eyes. “What? Is she okay? What happened? Is Poodle okay? Ellie?” he asks.
“Stop moaning and bitching. Everyone is fine,” Moretti pipes in.
“Who the fuck is that?” Skirt asks, rocking his daughter when she starts to fuss.
“Moretti woke up,” I grumble, and then a loud bang sounds from the playroom. “And Tongue captured a guy who knows something about the attack. He’s in there.” I jerk my chin to the door that hides the horrors of what the club does best. “Moretti doesn’t have a memory. So he’s testy,” I whisper out of the corner of my mouth.
“I was unconscious for too long.” Skirt looks at Dawn and their little girl.
“You know, Jo tried to save you. She ran into your house, but the smoke got to her before she could do anything.”
“Well…” He coughs to clear his throat and kisses his daughter’s forehead. “I guess we’re naming this little one Joanna, aren’t we? Sounds like a brave name.”
I think about everything Jo has been through, the struggles she faces and is about to face, and know this will bring so much joy and reassurance to her soul. “Really?” I rub my eyes as they water. Damn allergies.
“Yeah, I’ll call her Joey, I like that. I hope Dawn does too.”
“I like that,” Dawn whispers sleepily and reaches her hand across to touch Skirt. “Oh, God, you’re awake. It isn’t a dream.”
“No, babe. I’m here, Lips. I’m here. We’re all okay. I love ye, Dawn.”
I take a step away to give the new family some privacy. Poodle is at the bottom of the steps, staring at his best friend in shock. “Skirt?” He stumbles to the floor, and Sarah snickers.
“Bromance,” she mumbles with a roll of her eyes.
“Poodle!” Skirt lifts up Joey and grins. “Look what we made.”
Poodle runs to them and enters between Melissa and Skirt’s bed. He grabs Melissa’s hand and then leans down and gives Skirt a hug. “Fuck, it’s good to see you.” Poodle chokes up and then tightens his arm around Skirt’s head as he gives into the emotion. This isn’t only about Skirt, but about his fear for Melissa too.
Tongue steps from the shadows by the playroom door and has my heart skipping up a notch, his blade gleaming in the light of the treatment room as he licks his tongue across the polished metal.
“You’re right, Tongue. It’s time to show this guy what happens when they fuck with us.” Reaper, Tool, Bullseye, and Tongue head toward the playroom door.
“Hey, Prez? Can I come this time?” I ask, following behind them.
Each man turns their head to look at me. Reaper lifts a brow. “I thought you took an oath?”
“I can keep him alive.”
“We don’t want him alive,” Tongue snaps at me.
“I can keep him alive so he gets prolonged punishment.”
“Didn’t know you had it in you, Doc.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Tool.”
“I’m starting to see that,” Tool adds as Reaper opens the door.
It’s the first time I’ve been in here, and I don’t think it will be the last. I’m tired of not doing what I said I would all those years ago.
I want to pick and choose who I get to save.
I don’t want to play God, but I know how to play executioner.
My jury surrounds me, and I have no doubt it’s going to be a unanimous decision to let me gut him from the neck down.
Reaper is the judge, the man who holds the power, the gavel that determines the sentence for an enemy’s life.
And this man is guilty.
“My buddy Tongue here says you know something about what happened here at my club.” Reaper slides a sharp blade across the man’s chest. “I don’t know if you knew what you were getting involved in, but you fucked up.”
“I—I—swear, I don’t know much,” the young guy stutters through a busted lip. He can’t be more than twenty-three. He still has a baby face.
“Why don’t you get to talking?” Reaper suggests, sliding the blade in the other direction on his chest
. “I’m impatient today because… you see…” Reaper laughs and shakes his finger. He yanks the guy’s head back by his hair and holds the knife to his throat. He leans close to his ear as he points the knife at me. “See that man? He’s our doctor. He’s saved everyone you tried to kill. And you see that man?” Reaper jerks the man’s head to the right where Tongue is standing in the corner. “I think you know him, right? He cut all the tongues out of your friends. One word from me, and he’ll do it to you. And then you want to know what happens?”
The kid whimpers, and his eyes dart around, filling with terror and tears. The smell of dehydrated piss fills the air, and I crinkle my nose from the ammonia wafting off of it. It trickles down the drain from the slated floors, and the pipes gurgle from below.
“I’m going to have Doc here patch you up so you’re still alive, and then I’m going to have that guy…” He jerks the man’s head again until they’re staring at Bullseye. Bullseye is shining his dart and practicing his stance and aim. “I’m going to have him throw darts at you.” Reaper holds out a hand, and Bullseye gives him one of his metal darts. “Doesn’t sound too bad, right? They’re just darts.” Reaper shoves the sharp tip in the man’s thigh, and I hear the tip expand, and the teeth clench on the muscle, locking under the skin with a click.
He screams at the top of his lungs, and the metal shakes from the vibrations as Reaper tugs on the dart. “Stop! Oh, God. I’ll tell you whatever you need to know. I swear, I’ll do anything,” our prisoner sobs.
Reaper stands, patting the guy’s back as if he did a good job by giving in. Reaper pulls out a pack of cigarettes, and I frown at him. “Those things will kill you,” I say for the hundredth time.
“Yeah, so will this life.” He lights a match by striking it across the stubble on our captive’s chin, and the swaying flame glows upon Reaper’s sardonic face as he inhales on the end of the cigarette. He presses the burning end against the guy’s face, extinguishing the fire.
The smell of flesh roasting fills the air, and while it nearly makes me gag, Tongue inhales and closes his eyes as if it’s a relaxing spa scent.
